


Lucky Underwear

by bloomsoftly



Series: green to the end of days [5]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: And Sass, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Prompt Fill, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/pseuds/bloomsoftly
Summary: prompt fromDresupi: "Lucky underwear"





	Lucky Underwear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts).



> this is ridiculous and shameless and I had a whole lot of fun. :)

The next time they sent a mouse through the wormhole, it came back. In fact, it came back wearing a hand-knit sweater—an ugly monstrosity with swirling greens and blues and oranges that looked like it came straight out of the 80’s—and a note taped to its back.

Darcy and Jane looked at it each other in consternation. Shrugging, Darcy snagged the note and unfolded it. It was torn at the corner, as if ripped in a struggle, and was covered in three different lines of text.

The first—scrawled prominently across the page—was a frustrated line of chicken scratch.

_For God’s sake, PLEASE DO NOT SEND ANY MORE MICE. There is no room on the ship for any more vermin. We literally already have a TALKING RACCOON._

“Well,” Darcy mused, “at least the aliens are pretty polite, all things considered. I mean, we have been dumping mice in their laps for the past week. Also, they can write in English?”

Jane nodded distractedly, already re-calculating her equations. “Apparently we’ve been sending the mice to the same place. A ship? Which means the wormhole has locked onto an object and moves with it through space. And the writing could be a written form of All-Speak? Hmm, interesting…”

She wandered away, leaving Darcy to read the rest of the note by herself. The last two lines appeared to have been written by different hands, scribbled in a hurry.

_SEND MORE RODENTS. THEY ARE ENJOYABLE TO PLAY WITH._

Well, okay then. Darcy was glad somebody enjoyed the mice, at least.

_do u have music that doesn’t suck? the idiot insists on putting the same songs on repeat. over and over and over and over. and over._

_over and over_ was written repeatedly across the rest of the page, right up to the torn edge. Darcy rolled her eyes and sighed. How someone could manage to troll her from thousands of light-years away, she had no idea.

Figuring that she and Jane were practically experts by now in getting to know alien species, Darcy decided to consider herself a diplomatic representative of Earth. So, the next time they were ready to send something through the wormhole (Jane was determined to discover why it always connected to the mysterious being’s ship, despite variations in date and time), Darcy sent her iPod.

Not her new iPhone, mind you. But the old iPod, the one SHIELD had stolen and then returned years later. It was old and battered and missing half her playlists—and she was sad to see it go. Still, diplomatic relations sometimes required personal sacrifice.

The next time the wormhole opened, a crown of beautiful flowers plopped through, held up by what looked like a prosthetic hand. Darcy stared at it for a long minute, perplexed, then shrugged. It might be the strangest ‘thank you’ she’d ever gotten, but at least the flowers smelled good. The hand, officially dubbed ‘Flower Power,’ became the official mascot of the lab and oversaw all of their experiments.

The following week, Darcy sent a bulk-sized package of strawberry poptarts through the portal. Jane laughed at her, but Darcy defended her decision passionately. “What? We have a good track record with aliens and these things!”

The poptarts were a hit, as expected. Along with a demand for more came a little crystal frog.

And so the weeks passed, marked by increasingly-strange gift exchanges. Eventually, Jane put her foot down and declared, “Alright, that’s it. We’re running out of places to put all this weird space stuff. Time to take the next step.”

Darcy looked up from where she was munching on her space snack. It was weird—tasted a little bit like pickles, but not. Glancing up, she asked, “What’s the next step?”

“We’re going to send you through the wormhole, obviously. So you can meet your new friends in person.”

After one last loud crunch, Darcy swallowed and replied nonchalantly, “Alright, boss lady. Just don’t send me somewhere weird on accident, alright?”

-:-

The good news was that Jane didn’t dump Darcy into the vast emptiness of space to suffocate and die. The bad news was that she got dropped into a ship during what appeared to be the middle of some kind of space battle. As she wandered down the narrow corridor, there was a lot of yelling. Explosions rocked the ship, and Darcy stumbled to one side. She reached a hand out to steady herself against the wall,only to be bowled over by someone barreling down the hallway.

They fell in a tangle of limbs and leather, hitting the unyielding floor with a resounding smack. Darcy looked up, straight into—the barrel of a space gun? Well, she assumed it was a gun. It looked gun-like, something between a Star Wars blaster and a Star Trek phaser. A nerd’s wet dream, basically. She looked past the blaster to the face of the guy straddling her, and—oh. That was another wet dream entirely.

Still, he was pointing a weapon at her face. Her hands came up in the universal sign for surrender. Her knuckles pressed against the hard floor painfully and Darcy tried not to wince. Carefully, she said, “Woah, dude. I’m sorry to drop in at such a bad time. But, uhh, I think we’re kind of friends? I mean, pen pals at least. I send you things through that nifty little wormhole that shows up every now and then.” With a strained grin, she clarified, “I—I don’t know how many pen pals you’ve got from Earth, but I’m the one who sends poptarts and iPods? So, yeah.”

The unknown guy chuckled and put his gun away. Still straddling her, he gave her an appreciative once-over and teased, “Well if I knew you looked like this I would’ve suggested a meet-up a lot sooner,—” He stopped and quirked an eyebrow at her, waiting expectantly.

“Darcy. Science minion and newly-minted space traveler, at your service.” He leered at that, but before he could offer a cheesy pick-up line—Darcy’s been on the receiving end of a lot of those, she could see it coming—another explosion rocked the ship. She gestured to where he was still pinning her to the floor and asked, “Uhh, shouldn’t you be doing something about that instead of flirting with me, space boy?”

He winked and clambered to his feet. Reaching down to help her up, he corrected, “It’s Star-Lord, and don’t you worry, sweetheart. I’ve got it all under control.”

Darcy snorted. “Yeah, no, I’m not calling you that. You got a normal-person name, _Star-Lord_?”

He huffed in mock-exasperation, grumbling, “No one takes me seriously around here.” Dropping his chin and looking up at her through his lashes, he brushed a thumb across her cheek and offered, “I can make an exception for you, though. You can call me Peter.”

Darcy would like to say that it was a surprise that she ended up in bed with him, but that would be a bald-faced lie. There was something about the sass and the smirk that did it for her. The red leather jacket didn’t hurt, either.

Darcy woke up to Peter’s fingertips moving in sleepy, abstract patterns across her bare back. She shivered at the sensation, prompting him to stop and brush her hair out of her face. Half-squinting up at him, eyes still gummy with sleep, Darcy caught the gentle smile that swept across his face.

“That was—fun?” he asked, almost hesitant.

A raspy chuckle escaped her. “Was that a question, or a statement?”

Peter grinned at her wickedly and slid his hand down her waist and around to grip her ass. He nosed her hair aside and nipped at her neck, sucking lightly. Darcy arched into him, closing her eyes. She never would have guessed that a trip through a wormhole would result in amazing sex, but here they were. He rolled them so that Darcy was on her back and teased, “It was a statement. But if there’s any doubt, I’m happy to prove it again.”

Instead of a verbal reply, Darcy reached up to grab his face and bring him down for a hot, wet kiss. Their tongues slid lazily against each other for long minutes, sweet and slow. Eventually they broke away, and Darcy panted heavily against Peter’s neck. Her lips brushed along his stubble in a torturous burn, and she pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his throat. The tickle of his beard against her skin brought back memories of the previous night, when he had been kissing her somewhere entirely different. Darcy squirmed beneath him, grinding up against the leg he had trapped between her thighs.

With a nibble to his throat, Darcy groaned, “There’s no doubt, trust me. But if you want to remind me anyway, I won’t complain.”

Grinning wickedly, Peter worked his way down her body, nibbling and suckling as he went. Impatiently, Darcy pushed on his head. Her body was on fire, and the tease knew exactly what she wanted. Huffing a laugh, he allowed her to guide him down, down—and then his mouth was on her, licking up and in. She lost herself in the movement of his lips and tongue and then his clever fingers. She writhed mindlessly against him, eyes closed and hands fisted in the sheets at her sides. 

The alarm of her watch beeped loudly and insistently, and Darcy groaned. Barely lifting his face from her clit, Peter implored, “Just ignore it. Jane can wait a little longer.”

She followed his advice for long minutes, losing herself in the wet slide of his tongue against her. His fingers pumped in an out leisurely, sending her into a simmering spiral. The watch went off again—she had fifteen minutes until the portal opened to take her home. “Peter,” she moaned, desperate. She was so close.

There was no reply; instead, Peter doubled his efforts to make her come in the short time they had left. Crooking his fingers inside of her, Peter hit that spot that made her hips arch off the bed. Desperate for release, she gasped out his name. He suckled and swirled his tongue around her clit in response, over and over until she came with a cry, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

She slumped against the bed with a satisfied sigh, boneless in her afterglow. He kept his mouth on her for a minute longer, until she huffed a laugh and pulled him up toward her. They collapsed in a sweaty cuddle for a few precious minutes, breathing heavily against each other. Once she caught her breath, Darcy apologized, “I’m sorry that we don’t have time for me to return the favor.”

He laughed, silencing her with a salty kiss. She licked his mouth teasingly, enjoying the taste of her on his lips. “Next time?” he asked tentatively.

“Next time,” she promised. After an adventure like this (and equally importantly, with a mouth like Peter’s), there was no way she’d miss out on coming back. With a groan, she gave him one last quick kiss and levered herself out of bed. She rushed through getting dressed, only to realize—

“Where the hell is my underwear?”

Peter looked at her in confusion. “What?”

“My underwear? It was right here, with the rest of my clothing.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “ROCKET!” he shouted. It took a second for Darcy to catch on, and then she was yelling too.

“Damn it, Rocket. Those are my lucky underwear! 

Rocket’s cackle echoed throughout the entire ship. “I need them! They’re—really important for a plan.”

Peter groaned. “ROCKET—”

“No, seriously, they’re—uhh—important to me!”

Darcy’s alarm beeped again—she was out of time. Huffing, she pulled on her pants sans underwear. Glowering at Peter, she stomped into the hallway and growled, “I will be back for my lucky underwear. You better make sure he doesn’t do anything weird with it in the meantime.” Peter just nodded, laughing too hard to say anything in response.

The portal opened, casting an eerie blue glow over the interior of the ship. Darcy turned back to him and asked, “Same time next week?”

Peter leaned down for one last kiss.

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> I post these on [tumblr](https://bloomsoftly.tumblr.com) first.
> 
>  
> 
> [Send me a prompt and feed the muse!](https://bloomsoftly.tumblr.com/ask)


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